Elmer made his way through a clearing once traveled by a posse who had tracked a murdering thief all the way across Virginia, only to lose him—and themselves—one dark Halloween night. It took him five minutes to get to the foot of the formation, another ten to climb a path well-worn by generations of children who had been coming to this place for more years than Elmer had been alive; up to the top until he found himself standing on a huge, flat rock, twenty yards wide and thirty-three yards long. A huge boulder sat in the center of Ward Rock, and if he closed his eyes he could see Indians dancing around it, whooping and hollering and praying to their gods. Slashes and indentations adorned the rock, chiseled into the stone by fathers and sons, and their sons, too, generations who wanted to see their initials immortalized. Elmer didn’t notice them. Nor did he pay any attention to the marks he and his brother had made so many years ago. He walked to the edge, looked down at the valley and saw the entire town: the sheriff’s office and the courthouse, Reverend Stone’s Baptist Church, with its steeple pointing toward the heavens. He looked up at the setting sun, admiring the mountain ranges that stretched far across the horizon.
He did not regret what he had done, only that he had not done it sooner, before things had gone so horribly wrong. Maybe if he had taken the time to plan it out, Missy would still be here. He could have caught Jason out late one night, bushwhacked him on his way home in the wee hours of the morning, shot him or forced his car over the edge of the mountain. Elmer shook his head, sighing as he looked up at the sky. He had missed his chance. He had faltered, and now the only woman he had ever loved was gone.
He wondered what would happen next. The sheriff and Alvie Ross would surely be looking for him. Jared and his men, too. Soon he would be standing in the courtroom staring up at Theodore Croft’s beady eyes as he pronounced his judgment upon him. His life was over—he knew that now, and he didn’t much care.
Elmer looked at the dried blood on his shirt, at his right hand, which was covered with it. He stared at the clearing sixty feet below, and thought about ending it right then and there—it would be so easy. But he would not throw his life away. He would live, if only to spite the father of the man who had taken his beloved Missy from him.
The sun had disappeared behind the mountain, spreading shadows slowly across the valley. Elmer turned and made his way past the boulder, to the path at the rear of the formation. He followed it down to the clearing, out to the dirt road and down to his truck. Once inside, he turned the engine over and backed into a clearing, turned around and headed down the mountain, past Maudie Mason’s house, down and around through bends and curves, until he reached the paved road.
Darkness was settling around him as he headed down into the valley.
He knew he should leave town, now while he still had the chance. But there was money at home, and something more precious than money: Missy’s letters, and the few trinkets she had left scattered about his house.
Memories.
He made his way down Dingess Street, across the railroad tracks by Jimmy T’s. Once again he took the back way through town, through the alleys and the side streets, until he found himself crossing the Main Street Bridge. Then he was winding his way up Seeker’s Mountain, past the great mansion on the hill.
As Jared Thomas and Judge Croft were pulling up to the curb in front of the police station, Elmer Hicks was cresting Seeker’s Mountain. And while Judge Croft was raising his fist and railing at Earl Peters, Elmer was crossing the bridge into Miller’s Branch. He followed the dirt road, where farm houses were few and far between. Lights were on up and down the Holler, but he saw no cars as he headed toward his home. Rounding a curve, he downshifted, slowing as he passed his house. He saw nothing out of the ordinary there. No lights, no cars on or around his property. He continued for another half mile, pulled into Jeb Chaney’s driveway, turned around and headed back the way he had come, until he found himself back in front of his house.
Elmer took a deep breath, blew it out and turned into his driveway. He pulled up in his front yard, cut the engine and got out of the truck. He stood for a moment looking at his home, and at the land surrounding it. No telling when, or if he would ever see it again. Elmer pictured Missy sitting on the front porch, arms around her children, smiling and waving as he came home from a hard days work.
“Stop it,” he whispered, and then let out a long sigh.
He hurried over to the porch, climbed the stairs and stepped forward. In the dark, in front of the door, he listened for anything out of the ordinary. But heard nothing.
He slipped a key into the lock and opened the door, stepped into the house and eased the door shut. He stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the pitch-black, and cold steel pressed against his neck.
Someone struck a match and, Elmer, holding up a hand to shield his eyes, saw Harold Carter standing directly in front of him. Tall and broad-shouldered, he pointed a pistol at Elmer’s face. The knife was still at his side, but Elmer knew it was pointless. They’d cut him down before it ever cleared its blood-spattered sheathe.
“Holy Christ, I’ve been wantin’ this for a goddamn hour.” Squinting, Harold touched the flame to the end of a cigarette, took a deep drag and let the smoke slowly out. “Mm,” he mumbled, and then took another drag. “Oughta shoot ya for making me wait so long for it.”
The man behind Elmer flicked a switch, and the ceiling light came on.
Harold shook his match and the flame went out. Holding the matchstick between his thumb and forefinger, he flicked it, laughing as its sizzling head bounced off Elmer’s face.
The man behind him said, “You in a world of shit now, ain’tcha, boy?”
Elmer recognized the voice as belonging to Harold’s younger brother, Mikey.
Harold frowned. “Damn, Elmer, you smell like shit. What’ve you been doin’?”
Elmer, smiling for a brief moment, said, “Slaughterin’ a goddamn hog.”
Harold slid the pistol into his jacket pocket, and took a couple of steps forward.
“Good one,” he said, and then slammed a fist into Elmer’s gut. Driving a knee into his face when he doubled over drove him sideways to the floor, where he crawled forward on hands and knees, blood pouring from his nose as Harold took a few steps backward, bent over and scooped something off the coffee table. “Well. Look what I found.”
Elmer looked up at the envelopes wadded in Harold’s big fist, at Missy’s butterfly-shaped broach sitting on the table. “No,” he said.
“No?” Harold laughed. “Oh, I get it. These fuck letters must mean something to you.” He crammed the envelopes down the front of his pants and rubbed them around his crotch. “Here you go,” he said, grinning as he pulled them out and dropped them to the floor; laughing as Elmer reached out for the letters and Mikey delivered a savage kick to his ribs, drawing from Elmer a startled cry. Then they were working him over, Harold kicking him in the side of the head, the two of them kicking and stomping while Elmer curled into a ball and crossed his forearms in front of his face, fending off the blows as a vehicle turned into the driveway, and Mikey said, “Oh, shit”, running to the window while Harold stopped kicking, looking over at his brother as twin beams of light played across the windows, and a car rumbled to a stop in front of the house.
Doors opened, and doors slammed shut.
“You’re in it now,” Mikey said, laughing. “You are in it now, son.”
Elmer, moaning, rolled onto his back.
Footsteps thudded across the porch.
The door opened, and Judge Croft followed Jared Thomas over the threshold.
“Well, well, well,” Croft called out. “What have we here?”
Jared, smiling grimly, said, “Get him on his feet.”
Harold looked up at Jared, and took a step towards Elmer. “You got it, Boss,” he said, starting forward as Elmer slammed the tip of a hunting knife into Harold’s booted foot.
* * *
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eye
s?” Earl told his young wife, who had met him at the door with a smile on her face and a Gin and Tonic in her hand; standing before him, smiling, her dazzling blue eyes sparkling, her blonde hair falling across the shoulders of the yellow dress she wore as Earl did exactly what he said he was going to do. He took her into his arms and kissed her. It was a long and sensuous kiss, and the twenty six year old policeman, who was tired beyond belief, now had only one thing on his mind. And even though Vonda had spent the last hour cooking, and that food was now on the table, she led her husband to their marital bed.
Afterward, when Vonda had changed into a powder-blue silk housecoat, and Earl had bathed and changed into a clean uniform, the food eaten and pots and pans and plates and silverware piled into the freshly-drawn dishwater, Vonda and Earl sat together on the couch. It was seven-thirty. Soon, Earl and Alvie Ross would be out hunting for Elmer Hicks.
“It’s a damn shame, what happened,” Earl said. “Four people dead, and now Elmer Hicks’ life is as good as over. Not to mention a father losing a son, even if that son was a miserable prick who got what he deserved.”
“Earl, no one deserves that.”
“You didn’t see Missy Thomas lying on the side of the road with her neck all swole up, her face beat to a bloody pulp.”
Vonda shuddered. “Thank God for that,” she said.
“And those two little boys. What did they deserve?”
“That’s what the law is for. I shouldn’t have to tell you that, Sheriff,” Vonda said, gently stroking Earl’s thigh.
“I don’t know the law could’ve done much in this case. Not with Judge Croft riding shotgun over the proceedings.”
“But you had enough evidence to arrest him?”
Earl nodded his head. “That I did.”
“Then I’m sure between you and Alvie Ross, you would’ve seen justice served.”
Earl put an arm around her narrow shoulders, and pulled her a little closer. She was right. Earl had all the evidence he needed, and he would have done whatever it took to bring Jason Thomas to trial. Even if it meant going to the federal authorities. And if it meant losing his job in the process, he would have done that, too.
“What about Jerry Hodges?” Vonda asked. “Did he ever turn up?”
“Not yet, well, not as far as I know.” Earl took a sip from a glass of iced tea Vonda had poured while he was taking his place on the couch. “That situation kind of got put on the back burner when we rolled up in front of the Dime Store.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Well, we did look for him, and a bunch of miners headed up the mountain with Luke Hodges. Hell, the kid could be up there with a broken leg or something. Me and Alvie Ross—”
“Alvie Ross and I?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Earl smiled. His wife was an educated woman, and because he knew that she meant well, he had learned to take her playful corrections with a healthy dose of good nature. She was a schoolteacher, after all.
Earl filled her in on some of the details he had left out when talking with her from the office earlier in the evening. “Alvie Ross and I went out to his house. Talked to his mother and the neighbors up and down the Holler, but nobody had seen him.”
“What’s next?”
“Guess we’ll see about dragging the river tomorrow, if he doesn’t turn up before then. Who knows? He may be safe at home right now.”
“Can’t you call his house and find out?”
“They don’t have a telephone,” Earl said. “Not everybody has one, you know.”
“I thought she’d been calling you all morning.”
“She called from a neighbor’s house.”
“Ah,” Vonda said, nodding her head slowly.
“I did find out a creepy, little-known fact today.”
“Oh, really.” Vonda scooted back a foot or so, and looked up at her husband, waiting a moment or two before saying, “Well?”
Earl, who genuinely enjoyed teasing his wife, said, “Well, what?”
Vonda thumped a stiff forefinger off his chest. “Let’s hear it, Buster.”
“Ouch!” Earl said, grabbing the spot she’d just touched, which still carried a healthy bruise from the bullet which had so miraculously deflected off his badge last night. Geez, he thought. With all that had happened: the bank robbery, Missy and her children and the all-nighter out at her house, Jerry Hodges and Jason Thomas, yesterday seemed like an awfully long time ago.
“That’s what you get for teasing me.”
Earl laughed. “You ever heard of Arleta Briscomb?”
“Never.”
“Well, thirteen years ago her little boy went missing, just like Jerry Hodges. The next night another boy disappeared.”
“My God.”
“Then, the very next night—which happened to be Halloween, by the way—John Chamber’s nephew disappeared.”
Vonda punched him in the thigh. “You’re still teasing.”
“I wish I was. Arleta Briscomb lives out by the Hodges. Hers was the last place Alvie Ross and, I…” Earl rolled his eyes, and Vonda stifled a laugh. “… went today. Apparently, Jerry Hodges and her son are friends, although I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea.”
“Why’s that?”
Earl, grinning, stifled a laugh of his own. “The less said about that the better, I think.”
“What?”
Earl smiled, knowing his wife’s curiosity would get the better of her. “Believe me,” he said. “You don’t want to know.”
“Goddamnit.”
“Ho!” Earl held up his hands, as if he were a cowboy surrounded by a passel of Indians. “Okay, okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though.” He put his hands in his lap and looked down at his wife. “Alvie Ross and I and the boy’s mother caught him… ah, how should I say this? Coitis-interruptis with a cow this afternoon?”
“No!” Vonda said, her face turning several different shades of red as Earl said,
“Yes.”
“What did his mother say?”
“She wasn’t real happy about it.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Anyway, that’s where the story came out. And, yes, it’s all true. Three children on three consecutive nights. All of ‘em vanishing like they were never here, and nobody ever saw them again.”
“Jesus.” Vonda, touching a hand to the side of her head, began massaging her temple.
“What’s the matter?”
“That’s a horrible and frightening story. Just thinking about it makes me sick.”
“I told you it was creepy.”
“The parents. Those little children. My God, what could have happened to them?”
“Nobody knows. Alvie Ross said it haunted John Chambers all the way to the grave. Drove his sister insane, you know. Ruined her. It happened like that—” Earl snapped his fingers “—then it was over and nobody ever figured out what happened.”
Vonda, visibly shaken, drew a breath and let it out. She looked like she was about to say something, but the telephone rang and she sank back into the couch as Earl snatched the receiver from its cradle.
“Yeah,” he said… “What?… Jesus...”
Earl shot a worried glance at his wife before turning his attention back to the telephone. “Yeah, right,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”
He hung up the phone and looked over at Vonda. “Another child has gone missing.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Earl pulled up to a streetlight outside the police station. He turned off the car and sat for a moment, staring up at the moon hovering over Ward Rock Mountain. Vonda had taken it awfully hard, the story about those missing kids—harder than she should have, he thought. But she was a woman, and he supposed that women came equipped with a finely-tuned sense of motherly instincts. And what a horrible story it was. He wondered why no one had mentioned it before. But why would they? It had happened such a long time ago. Ancient history. Still, he couldn’t help wondering what might have happened to those chi
ldren.
Earl pushed the door open, got out and slammed it shut. He made his way onto the sidewalk and through the entryway, and found Alvie Ross seated at a desk, drinking a cup of coffee.
Earl smiled, but it wasn’t much of one. “The hell’s happening in this town?”
“I don’t know. It’s ridiculous. We’ve had more shit around here in the last day and a half than…” Alvie Ross’ voice trailed off as he shook his head. “Earl, as of this afternoon, there’s been seven bodies over at the funeral home. Murder, mayhem, bank robberies and shootouts. That’s just plain unnatural—for any town, much less a little mountain community like this.”
“Jason Thomas, Elmer Hicks, missing kids,” Earl said. “Where the hell do we start?”
Alvie Ross, scratching his chin, leaned back in his chair and smiled. “You’re the boss,” he said.
“Thanks a lot,” Earl said, then, sitting down in front of Alvie Ross, “What do we know about the Jackson boy?”
“His mother walked into Kelly’s Diner while I was eating, told me her boy hadn’t come home from school and she was worried about him. Ricky’s a good boy. His daddy’s worthless as a plug nickel, but Millie’s raised the boy up right. They live down in Slag Town.”
Earl looked at his watch. It was eight-thirty. “You tell her about Jerry Hodges?”
“Huh uh.”
“Good. No need to start a panic.”
“Yet,” Alvie Ross said, as he set the coffee cup on the desk.
“They can’t be related, can they?” Even with everything that had happened, Earl’s mind could not comprehend such a thing.
“Jesus, Earl. I don’t see how. Let’s not let all this other stuff get our imaginations outa whack. Hell, for all we know, Jerry Hodges has already turned up. I haven’t gotten any more calls about him.”
“What else did Millie Jackson have to say?”
“Not much else to say. He’s eleven years old and has brown hair. He was wearing a faded blue T-shirt, black pants and an old gray jacket.”
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